


Poet

by ChasetheSun2



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Grieving, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheSun2/pseuds/ChasetheSun2
Summary: I have written you down now, you will live forever.





	Poet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMissluluB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissluluB/gifts).



> Art by [Lulu!](http://littleladylulub.tumblr.com)  
> Written for the [Homestuck Artists](http://homestuckartists.tumblr.com) Art/fic collab day.

_Entries from the Book of the Signless; The New Covenant_

 

_As written by his Disciple_

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

The Signless has been executed. With his last words he laid a terrible, deafening curse upon this land, upon the Empress and her council. With one final expletive his rage and agony shook the universe itself, the ground around us all. For the first time in my lifetime – or any trolls' lifetime, I would surmise – the Empress showed true fear. His death was worth it, if only to show that a goddess can be afraid of a mere mutant.

His final words were of such a volume that I am no longer able to hear. It does not matter. I do not need to hear anymore; no one's words will ever strike me the way his did.

I have relocated to [REDACTED]. Here with the help of the blueblood who released me I have taken to finishing the Signless' Covenant. The book that holds his sermons, my life's work. I will not rest until every word I have memorized has been written down. This is his testament and I must assure that it survives.

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

The blueblood refuses to help me any further. He brings me food, but he refuses to help me spread the word of the Signless. My poor [REDACTED], I wish you were here. You could have made him see the error of his ways.

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

Sometimes I swear I hear you speak to me, [REDACTED]. I know this is madness, as I cannot hear, but I feel it. The blueblood tells me I am obsessed and I do not argue him. I know.

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

It has been a sweep since the Signless' death. I am still deaf, despite the blueblood's hopes that my eardrums will heal. He has taught me sign language so we can communicate easier. He still brings me food and insists that I reintegrate with troll society but I refuse. My work is not yet done, the sermons are not yet transcribed.

I whisper them to myself and draw stories on the walls to help me remember.

 

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

I have been visited by the Cult of the Signless. They wear the symbol of your shackles, [REDACTED], upon my request. It is something to remember you by. Eyes that have not yet been given sight will see these symbols and know of you. Tongues that do not yet know speech will tell your tales and you will be remembered. The world will remember you, [REDACTED].

I could ask for nothing more.

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

I fear what will happen once I complete the Book. I do not want to break my final connection to you, [REDACTED]. If only these pages could bring you back to life. Instead they offer you immortality of another sort, I choose to believe.

Thousands will read these pages, see your words, and I pray that they will feel a stirring in their hearts as the one you caused in mine. Your heart lies in these words, [REDACTED], I am only the one who keeps it beating.

I miss you. I wish I could tell you everything I never said while you were alive. I will write them instead.

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

Sometimes I can feel the blueblood's eyes on me. I catch him, sometimes, watching me with a strange expression on his face. I think he pities me. If he were ever to make these feelings known I would spurn him wholly, I am certain. I remain ever devoted to my Signless.

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

Five sweeps since the Signless' execution. The walls are full of paintings now. I erase them when I finish writing but I fear that my memory is slipping because some of these I never remember having painted, nor do I remember their accompanying story.

But I remember every sermon, dearest. I promise you, I will not fail you.

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

The Cult visits and brings gifts. Food, medicine when I am sick, clothes. I think they can see that I am aging now, getting slower. Many have offered to become my Disciple, to learn from me as I learned from you. Isn't that funny? I tell them always that there is and will only ever be one of you. I could never take your place, [REDACTED].

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

The sermons are almost complete. I am entering the log of the final perigees of the Signless' existence and I find myself more and more prone to tears. My heart breaks all over again as I remember every day that I spent with [REDACTED]. I spend many of my days now curled up with the Book and his leggings in my pile, along with the other objects and trinkets I have managed to steal back from our camp.

There is a pit in my stomach and I long for the way things were. Why, oh why didn't we quit while we were ahead...

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

I fear I am entering the final sweeps of my life. I am older now and my bones ache with the change in seasons. I am no longer as fast as the prey I hunt. The blueblood offers to show me to use a bow. He cares for me nowadays, and writes what I say when my hands are too stiff to move.

It is his final penance, he tells me.

I am nearing close to the Sufferer's Final Sermon, as many know it now. The Cult brings me things to ease my pain in my old age and I grow more determined and yet more reluctant to write every day. This is my last bond to my Signless. I do not wish to complete my purpose and leave myself with nothing.

The blueblood tells me that once the Book is complete he will hide it, copy it, spread the Signless' words. It seems that somehow you have changed him, [REDACTED], even from beyond death. Maybe you truly will live forever.

The walls are covered with paintings. I remember everything now so sharply. I tell the blueblood the stories as I write or when I am too ill to move. He weeps. As do I.

 

**[DATE REDACTED]**

I am so weary. I must keep writing.

 

**[DATE REDACTED – FINAL ENTRY]**

It is complete.

I am coming, my dearest.

 


End file.
